


Abyssal

by missmungoe



Category: One Piece
Genre: Adventure & Romance, Alternate Universe, Established Relationship, F/M, Loving Marriage, Made in Abyss AU, Nakamaship, Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-25
Updated: 2019-02-25
Packaged: 2019-11-05 11:15:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17917712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missmungoe/pseuds/missmungoe
Summary: They say the people of Orth long for the unknown so fiercely, everyone in it is born with the Abyss in them; a hunger so deep, the only thing that can hope to fill it are answers. But only the King of the Abyss knows what lies at the bottom of the netherworld.Hunger isn't an unfamiliar concept to Luffy.Granted, it's a little hard to tell them apart sometimes.





	Abyssal

**Author's Note:**

> So a friend of mine introduced me to Made in Abyss, and I fell ass over teakettle in love with the world—so much that I had to write a story with my favourites set in it. It's not a crossover fic, just the One Piece characters existing within the setting of this series.
> 
> I also know I'm courting a tiny audience of readers with this, but the idea seized me so fiercely, I'm sharing it in the case that someone might want to read it!

The Goblets of Giants never really lost their splendour, no matter how many times Shanks had seen them.

Steaming water poured down from above in thin rivulets, like streams of silk ribbons from an empress’ headdress, gathering in the clear green pools beneath the thick copse of towering dairakazura that covered the region, the spring somehow both a sea and a forest all at once. Deep blue shadows draped thickly between the pools, cast by the wide brims of the flat-creepers; the otherworldly chalices that presided over this section of the Fourth Layer.

Breathing in filled his lungs with the bright, loamy smell of the surrounding jungle, and the tinge of sulfur that was unique to this area, with its deep pools and silky mists, although even the eerie beauty of it couldn’t distract from the sight they’d come upon.

The moisture in the air dewed on his brow, running down his temples to soak the neck of his shirt. It gathered in his lashes, and Shanks blinked it away, gaze sweeping across the encampment. Nestled at the foot of a towering flat-creeper necklaced with emerald vines, some ways off from the vertical shaft, his first impression was that it was a good place to make a base, although foresight hadn’t helped the delvers much in the end.

Death hung as heavy as the humidity in the air, seeming to cling to the folds of his cloak as he moved between the capsized tents. A ghostly white mist crept over the ground, gathering around his ankles and shrouding the bodies, as though the Abyss had already begun wrapping them for their funeral.

The fire pit had long since gone cold, the blackened stones upended and the damp wood scattered, and the whole camp showed signs of a struggle, and not a minor one at that. The excavation team of Black Whistles looked to have been caught by surprise, half of them still in their bedrolls. And he might have dismissed it as nothing more than the work of the Abyss; the inevitable dangers they all faced in traversing it, not just the Curse, but the creatures that frequented these depths. It wasn’t unusual for delvers to be caught unawares by the latter, and these were orb piercer hunting grounds.

Except that whoever had killed these delvers had taken their whistles—had ripped them from their necks, and with intent.

Touching two fingers to the neck of the fallen delver at his feet, Shanks inspected the thin red markings where the cord had bit into his skin. No pulse leaped to meet him, and the pallor of his complexion told him he’d been dead for a while.

“Enemy raiders?” Yasopp asked, from where he was crouching by one of the bodies further down. The damp soaked his dreads, muting the dark gold where they hung over his brow with his frown. They were checking the camp for survivors, although Shanks already knew they wouldn’t find any.

“One in particular,” Shanks said heavily, rising back to his feet. The name sat in his mind, as dark as his voice when he spoke it, and the scars in his face seemed almost to respond, “Teach.”

Across the camp, someone spit a startled curse. The sound fractured the air for a second, before the soft trickle of the water rushed in to fill the cracks.

“Boss?”

Looking up, Shanks found Lucky approaching. He was holding up a leather satchel, and when he came closer, Shanks saw that it bore the emblem of the Delvers’ Guild. It was the kind used to carry valuable information; the kind meant to go straight to Headquarters.

There’d been no White Whistle on this expedition to verify their findings, although even rumours had value on the surface, Shanks knew. Especially if it got into the wrong hands.

“They must have discovered something,” he said, examining the satchel, which looked to have been emptied and discarded. “Whatever it was, Teach found the information worth killing them over.”

“It would prevent them bringing the rumours to the surface,” Ben agreed. He was observing the flat-creepers above their heads. The round, moss-covered disks blocked out the view, although this far down in the Abyss, they couldn’t see much anyway.

Kneeling, Shanks considered the items scattered across the ground; the handful of personal belongings abandoned by Blackbeard’s raiders, no doubt deemed worthless. There was a pack of playing cards, soggy and ruined from the water, and brushing away a patch of upturned moss found a tiny hammerbeak carved from a smooth piece of wood, like a child’s toy. It looked unfinished.

An old silver pocket-watch with a wedding photo lay open, the clock’s mechanism broken, although it appeared to be a memento rather than a practical timepiece. But then they all had their tokens; their anchors to the world above.

Absently, he touched his fingers to Gryphon’s hilt, and the kerchief wrapped around it.

“Are we going to do something about him?” Ben spoke up then, as Shanks lifted back to his feet, only to find him lighting himself a cigarette. How he hadn’t run out yet, Shanks hadn’t the faintest idea. It had been two months since they’d left the Seeker Camp, which was the only place Ben might have resupplied his stock. And Shakky didn’t part with her tobacco lightly.

Following that thought, “We don’t have the supplies for an extended stay,” Shanks said, with a glance at the others still searching the camp, and the bodies. His own team’s expedition was well into its fourth month already, and they’d each taken their toll, for all their stubborn cheer. Shanks was feeling it, too.

He looked back at Ben. “And before we do anything, I want to talk to the Guild. This is more than just a delver gone rogue.”

“Do you think they’ll listen this time?” Ben asked, with the inflection that told Shanks he already had an idea of what the answer would be.

Shanks pressed his lips together. They hadn’t heeded his warning the last time he’d brought his concerns to them about Teach. A regrettable facet of Orth’s both fortuitous and precarious position as the leading nation of abyssal delvers: there were always greater threats to their supremacy than a single, greedy man.

“Even if they don’t,” he answered Ben at length, “I still want to report this.” He looked at the fallen delvers, feeling the weight of the pocket-watch in his hand where he gripped it. “And their families deserve to know what happened.”

Ben said nothing, although an understanding was implied, as heavy as his silence.

“I also want to prepare,” Shanks continued, slipping the watch into his pocket as he turned to survey the campsite. The surrounding forest was quiet, and nothing stirred but the ripples through the water. Blackbeard's raiders were long gone. “If we go after him, it won’t be a regular dive. We’ll need a plan. We don’t know what these guys found, or what Teach means to do with it.”

Ben nodded, hard features revealing similar thoughts. Removing his cigarette from his lips, he exhaled. “If nothing else, Headquarters is greedy when it comes to their monopoly on knowledge. They might ask you to take him out just for that.” He gave Shanks a meaningful look. “We’re looking at a long dive. Months if we’re lucky. Longer if we’re not. Provided we even find him. And then…” He looked at the encampment around them, the deathly stillness broken only by the steady trickle of water from above.

He wasn’t making a point of being subtle, but then Shanks knew better than anyone what was at stake.

And the time frame was one thing, but it would also be dangerous, although that itself was a useless statement, because every expedition was dangerous, no matter the reason. That was the very nature of the Abyss, and the lives they’d chosen in choosing it, and every dive came with the knowledge that it might be their last.

They might have a better chance of catching him if they followed his trail immediately, before it went cold. But that kind of thinking lacked the discretion necessary when dealing with someone like Teach, who’d be better prepared. And Shanks hadn’t made his career by being careless, and wouldn’t risk being that now. Not when he had more to lose than just his own life.

“Whatever we do, I want to stop by the surface first,” Shanks said. And despite the thoughts weighing on his mind, he felt a smile easing across his face as he lifted his gaze in the direction of Orth, far above.

“There’s something I need before anything else.”

 

—

 

The sky peered down, oppressively blue, and the red-tiled rooftops baked in the sun, the last of the daylight poured into the round bowl of the island’s crater, and the city where it sprawled along the lip of the Abyss, the grey stonework houses heaped on top of each other, and some built so close to the edge they seemed to be teetering.

But then that was Orth, the city that could never be close enough, and that longed for the unknown so fiercely it was said everyone in it was born with the Abyss in them; a chasm so deep it could never be filled.

The gondola port stretched out, a long, wide platform poised above the endless drop into the Abyss below, and two Guild officials were waiting for the ascent to complete—along with the crowd that had amassed at the port and in the nearby streets, filling every space that offered a view of the platform, some perched on rooftops and hanging out of open windows just to catch a glimpse of the return.

Makino watched the empty space at the very edge of the platform, the frustratingly slow ascent of the gondola bordering on intolerable, and she could barely endure the minutes as they ticked by. An odd paradox, when she was used to waiting months at a time, but the last few minutes were always the worst.

The long red carpet was strewn with Eternal Fortunes, the thick cover of petals like snow where it brushed her ankles, catching in the intricate folds of her braid and her lashes when a playful breeze sent them dancing. The sweet scent filled her nose, almost to the point where it was too much, and she might have remarked on the excessive amount if she’d thought it would stop them from going cheerfully overboard every single time Shanks returned from the Abyss. But Makino had long since made her peace with the fact that there were certain aspects of her husband that she had no choice but to share with the rest of Orth.

The sunlight gathered in her dark hair, and the sheer veil offered precious little covering, the embroidered border just barely shielding her eyes where it dipped demurely into her brow. The rest she’d braided into the bun at her nape, heavy where it rested at the top of her spine, only a few loose strands teased free by the warm breeze. A delicate silver headdress weighed gently over her crown, holding down the veil.

A silly tradition maybe, all this white, but she’d stood here too many times to take any chances with his life now. If there was any luck to wring from old superstitions, she’d take every last drop.

Her dress was white, too, the slit skirts allowing some relief from the heat where they brushed her calves, and the painfully elaborate and layered design demonstrating her station rather loudly, which was mildly ridiculous, given the fact that she owned a bar and everyone knew it, but then the Guild had insisted.

It added to the effect, apparently—the beloved hero’s homecoming to his faithful wife. And they were rather fond of putting on a show. And truly excessive amounts of white.

Her apron was the only thing that suggested where she’d come from that morning, although she’d been careful not to spill anything on it. Makino doubted a stain would have dampened the desired effect by much, but better not to tempt fate. And anyway, she’d been too overcome by the news that Shanks' team was coming home to want to ruin it by arguing inconsequential details with the Guild’s ceremonial overseer.

And okay, _maybe_ the inclusion of the apron was entirely wilful, but then she’d discovered over the past few months that she'd gained something of a temper. But at least she’d made sure it was white, almost virginal in its newness, which was only a little ironic, given the cheerful roundness of her very pregnant stomach where it protruded beneath.

It was getting almost unbearably hot; Makino felt the sweat where it ran between her breasts, and her ankles ached from standing. It hadn’t even been that long, but each minute felt like an hour.

Her hands were clammy where she clenched them at her sides, the action tugging gently at the snug sleeves of her dress where they were fastened delicately around her middle fingers. Makino felt how they shook as she brought them up to cradle her stomach, drawing some strength from the movements of their unborn child, who seemed to be sharing none of her concerns, as she kept her gaze resolutely fixed on the empty port ahead as the gondola took its sweet time coming up.

The crowd around her buzzed with excitement, the sheer amount of people gathered making it feel like all of Orth had showed up, although given how universally adored Shanks was, she couldn’t entirely dismiss that possibility.

Makino felt their eagerness where she stood at the very front, the churning tumult of bodies where they’d shoved together, almost all of them taller than her barring the children, making her feel small and out of place, even as she’d very deliberately been placed at the head of the crowd, and she couldn’t have blended into it if she’d wanted to. Everyone knew who she was.

She heard their voices, raised with delighted laughter and familiar speculation, and—although she was too old to be anything but wryly humoured by this anymore—the swooning sighs of the younger girls that had flocked around her, as though if they stood close enough, one of them might be lucky enough to tempt his gaze into straying.

She needed a drink. Why did she have to be pregnant right at this moment?

But it wasn’t the suffocating heat or her small discomforts that made her unable to partake in their excitement, or that made her heart sit so heavily in her chest, every beat like a painful stab as she counted the seconds, even as part of her shied away from what awaited.

She never knew what to expect from these returns; if the gondola making its slow ascent would be carrying her husband, or the news she was always dreading, with every hour and every breath—that instead of his warm and living body, there’d be a carved whistle tucked into her hand, as white as her useless veil, and condolences she’d be forced to share with the city, too. She couldn’t love him in peace; Makino already knew there’d be no grieving him in peace, either.

She felt suddenly sick, and couldn’t tell if it was a combination of her lingering morning sickness and the heat, or the thought of never seeing him again, which was never far from her mind. Probably both.

Drawing a deep breath through her nose, she focused on the little movements in her belly, and how delighted he’d be to feel them. And that was something that was _theirs_ ; that didn’t belong to the city, or the Abyss. The wife of their most beloved White Whistle or not, Makino refused to share the intimate aspects of her pregnancy with the rest of Orth.

“Forgot how long this always takes,” Dadan grumbled from beside her. The wild copper bramble of her hair caught the sunlight, burning as bright as the rooftops. She towered above the crowd, and Makino had to hold her tongue from asking if she could see the gondola yet, unsure if she wanted to know the answer; if Shanks was in it or not.

She felt detached from the celebration around her, but she didn’t blame them for it. For the citizens of Orth, it was a hero’s homecoming whichever way you looked at it; it didn’t matter to them if Shanks returned alive or dead. White Whistles were legends made flesh, and even the news that one of them had been killed in action was cause for amazement—a testament to the tantalising dangers of the Abyss, to be able to defeat someone so powerful. And for those born in Orth, it was a motivator rather than a deterrent.

Makino didn’t understand it. And she’d been born here, too, but she’d never longed for the unknown—not for artifacts or knowledge or just the thrill of exploration. She’d always preferred her feet safely planted, in the cradle of the open sky. She’d never even briefly considered the idea of descending the Abyss, not even the relatively safe shallows. In Orth, she was something of an anomaly.

Even stranger, then, that she’d married the man she had.

“Red-Hair is pretty damn amazing, huh? They say he's the greatest of all the White Whistles. But I guess that’s to be expected. He was apprenticed to Dark King Rayleigh _and_ Gold Roger.”

The voice reached towards her from the crowd at her back. She usually tried her best to tune them out, but it was hard sometimes, with his name spoken on every breath, and a greedy part of her longing to seize even the smallest mention of him.

“Yeah,” another voice responded, with the breathless fervour she’d come to expect, although she wasn’t prepared for what followed—“I wonder if he’ll be making his Last Dive any time soon.”

The casual remark stabbed through her chest, and shoved her tightly-held breath loose with a stutter. Her hands tightened instinctively around her belly where her baby moved, unaware that her heart had seized to a fist.

“Oh man, I wish! I bet he’d make it all the way down, too. If anyone could, it would be Red-Hair. And you figure he’s got to be wanting it, right? Roger used to be his mentor, so there’s got to be a part of him that wants to find out if he’s really alive down there.”

“Shit, I hope he does. I’d kill for that information!”

Furious tears pressed against her eyes, but she stubbornly held them back. And even if she didn’t blame them for their excitement, there was a part of her that hated them for it. The glory of a dead hero wouldn’t keep her warm at night.

The large hand clamping down on her shoulder told her Dadan had heard them, but Makino was relieved when that was all she did, already aware of how many expectant eyes were on her, and remembering vividly the last time this had happened, when she'd threatened to toss the careless speaker into the Abyss for being so insensitive.

“I’ll kill them,” Dadan slipped the murmur under her breath, the threat grating in her smoker’s rasp. “Just say the word.”

Despite herself, Makino blurted a wet laugh. “It’s okay.”

Dadan just tightened her grip, and Makino drew some comfort from her presence, and the protective shield of her familiar bulk, sparing her from being at the complete mercy of the crowd. For all that they knew who she was, it didn’t stop them from voicing their speculations, although they weren’t being careless out of cruelty; it was just the nature of Orth. For them, a White Whistle’s Last Dive meant new and untold discoveries. They didn’t think about what it would mean for those left behind on the surface.

“He won’t,” Dadan said then, and Makino started, before she repeated, her voice pitched low to keep the words between them, “Red-Hair. He won’t do it.” She snorted. “Idiot’s so besotted with you, I doubt the whole goddamn Abyss could compare.”

Reaching up, Makino gripped her hand fiercely, her own tiny in comparison and her gratitude wordless, but then she couldn’t muster her voice, and she felt Dadan’s understanding in her tighter grip.

The gondola was making its last climb out of the pit. Makino listened to the slow, clattering sounds of the cables as it was lifted out of the Abyss, the setting sun dancing off the bars of the gilded diving bell.

She held her breath painfully, and it was a struggle deciding if she wanted to squeeze her eyes shut or to keep looking at it, not knowing which would be worse, should her worst fears be confirmed.

But then she saw his hair, and the breath she’d been holding rushed out of her with a sob, so forceful it nearly folded her in half, but Dadan’s grip only tightened on her shoulder, keeping her grounded.

The whole crowd erupted, but Makino didn’t hear them, and didn’t care that all of Orth was watching as she broke away from the waiting throng, the white petals crushed under her feet as she ran, a little awkwardly with her stomach but wholly uncaring of the fact, and the breeze dragged the tears she’d been holding from her eyes as she sprinted down the port towards the gondola as the door was opened.

He’d barely taken a full step onto the platform when she reached him, throwing her arms around his neck, and his laughter where it found her would have taken her knees out if he hadn’t caught her, Makino felt, although it had barely pulled free of him before she muffled it with a kiss so deep she felt Shanks stumbling back a step.

His arm tightened around her, lifting her up, the embrace a little awkward with her belly and their considerable difference in height, but she compensated by pushing herself as close as she could come, shoving up on her toes as she wound her arms around his neck and kissed him harder than she could ever remember doing.

The hard and wonderfully solid frame of his body pushed against her, and dwarfed by his bigger shape, she couldn’t think of a greater relief, so intense it filled her chest until she couldn’t breathe, finding no room left for it.

Breaking the kiss, she fought to catch her breath, her chest hurting for a different reason now, but the pain had never felt more welcome, hearing the rough quality of his laughter as Shanks eased her back down, head bent to rest his brow against hers and his broad shoulders releasing a shuddering sigh as his arm wrapped around her back.

“Welcome home,” Makino breathed, cupping his cheeks, and she felt his grin where it widened under her hands as he chuckled, and turned his head to kiss her palms. Her fingers trembled where she smoothed them over his face, his warm skin and the thick, black stubble of his beard, as though reassuring herself he was real, and that she really was touching him. She often woke from dreams like this, but there was no empty bed greeting her now, just the protective hold of his arm, and his strong, sturdy, _living_ body.

Around them, the crowd was roaring, but Makino didn’t let it touch her, aware of nothing but the man in her arms and the baby moving in her belly.

As though he’d felt it, Shanks pulled back a bit to look at her. Makino saw how his eyes widened, before his big hand lifted to wrap around the bump, and his breath rushed out with a wondering laugh, “Oh, you’ve gotten _big_.”

Her own laugh blurted out, right past the sob stuck in her throat. “I’m only letting you get away with saying that because I’ve missed you,” she told him pertly, even as she couldn’t help the preening grin. Not with that look on his face; the gentle wonderment that had no equal, for all his expeditions.

Shanks just grinned, pressing shaking fingers to her stomach, his whole expression lifting with delight at the movements within. Five months since he’d gone down, when she'd barely been showing, and Makino saw how he took in the changes hungrily, tracing the roundness of her belly and the rest of her, his eyes roaming her face, before coming back to settle on the bump as he moved his hand to cradle it.

She saw the changes in him, too—the shadows that always followed him up from the depths, that gathered in his eyes and sharpened his handsome features, leaving them harder. The Abyss never let go once it had grabbed hold. She wondered sometimes if that was the real curse.

And the strain of ascension from the Fourth Layer was challenging, even for experienced delvers. Shanks didn’t go into detail about it, but she always wondered how much of it he felt, and the toll it took on him. He’d always embodied strength to her. Even now she felt it, observing his straight spine and the powerful shape of him, the unyielding muscles and his clear grey eyes, and she couldn’t have guessed from looking at him that he should have suffered anything but the normal aches of a long expedition.

Her brows knitted beneath the gossamer veil, considering his face that she knew so well, and finding through the lingering exhaustion and the tender smile a new shadow she hadn’t seen before, and that hadn’t been there when he’d gone down, five months ago.

Small fingers curling under his chin, she tipped his head up, lifting his eyes from where they’d fixated on her belly. “Are you okay?” Makino asked.

His smile didn’t quite convince her, but reaching up to grip her wrist reassuringly, Shanks kissed her fingers, and he wasn’t lying when he told her, roughly, “I am now.”

He didn’t say anything else, but the look he gave her told her that whatever it was, now wasn’t the time to discuss it, with the whole city watching. And so with a nod of understanding, Makino filed the thought away for later, to revisit when they were alone.

But even resolving not to think about it, she couldn’t help but wonder what it might be, and what it might mean for him—if he might have to go back down again, and before their child was born.

Having likely read her thoughts on her face, it was Shanks’ turn to grip her chin now, lifting her eyes from where they’d latched onto the carved white whistle where it rested against his chest, hanging from the long cord around his neck.

“Hey,” he said gently, the greeting quietly intimate, and wonderfully hers. “I made it.”

Her laugh was thick, and entirely telling of her thoughts, although her face had already done a good job revealing those. “You did,” Makino murmured. An old ritual of theirs; a private homecoming that had nothing to do with the rest of the city. Because he wasn't just coming back to Orth, he was coming back to her.

Then, touching his cheek tenderly, her voice broke over the words, and that painful, long-held truth, “I've missed you.”

Sweeping his thumb over the dip of her chin, Shanks released it, before touching the veil wrapped around her hair, and the delicate silver threads woven between the dark folds of her braid, making up her headdress. They circled her crown, dipping into her brow, while the rest dangled from her temples, two silver cascades gently touching her collar, chiming softly whenever she turned her head. She saw how his eyes lingered on them, before he carefully touched a finger to one, sending it swinging.

“Look at you,” he laughed roughly. “Shit, you’re beautiful. My imagination does not do you justice, if you’re wondering. I tried to sketch you from memory, but now I’m just embarrassed.” His grin turned sheepish, before he added, his deep voice pitched a little lower, "But on that note, remind me to double-check this time before I hand over my notebooks. Last time, I accidentally gave Headquarters the one with my drawings of you. The nude studies."

Helpless, she knew her grin had to look ridiculous, but didn’t care, and didn’t give a damn that they all saw. Let them know. She didn’t mind sharing this.

Fiddling with the veil where it covered her brow, Shanks rubbed it between his fingers, the rough, calloused pads catching on the sheer silk tulle, but he could have ripped the whole thing off and she wouldn’t have minded.

His gaze dropped to take in the rest of her, the eager rake of his eyes holding a long hunger, and she felt the heat of his fingers through the thin layers of her dress as he ran them up her arm and around the curve of her bare shoulder, his hand large where he cupped it and his skin warm through the slit in her sleeve.

But then, “Please tell me you’re wearing something that’s not white under this,” Shanks said, flicking his eyes up to hers, grey like the flash of steel, teasingly proffered. “I feel like I’m trying to feel up a saint. Then again, that’s not far from the truth. You are a saint for putting up with all of this for me.” His smile slanted, genuinely apologetic, before he murmured, “And me.”

Makino rolled her eyes fondly, although the grip of her hand around his wrist let him know she wasn’t taking that apology lightly. She never had, their whole marriage. “I don’t mind all of this,” she said, and didn’t specify whether she was referring to the excessive amounts of white, the crowd, or the Abyss beneath them. It didn’t matter; it was still the truth, and that had never wavered.

Then, a murmur just for his ears as she lowered her gaze demurely, before looking up at him through her lashes, “And who says I’m wearing anything at all under this?”

His whole look darkened, and before she’d had time to react, he’d ducked his head down to kiss her, his fingers reaching around her neck to cradle it, snagging in her hair as he tipped her head back roughly, his tongue delving into her mouth, muffling her laughter.

The crowd ate it up, but then their marriage was something of a public affair, although Shanks wasn’t paying them any mind, or the Guild officials patiently waiting for him to make his report, all of them wryly familiar with this display, and probably already bracing themselves for having to wait a while longer to get their jobs done. But there was no regret within her at the feeling, or even embarrassment as she kissed him back fiercely, pressed so close there was no doubt what he was thinking about, and it wasn’t the tempting chasm beneath them.

Drawing back, his chuckle was rough and soft, and the eyes holding hers held five months of yearning that stole her elusive breath all over again.

And even if she didn’t feel it herself, the longing for the Abyss was something she was familiar with; the wife of one of the greatest delvers to ever have come out of Orth. But the look in his eyes when he watched her now didn’t leave any question that he longed for her, too, and even sharing him with the city, and the Abyss, that would always be hers. Something not even the greatest mysteries of the netherworld could compete with, and that assured her that if ever there came a day where the gondola would be empty, it wouldn’t be through his own choice.

With her next breath, Makino let go of the fear that had kept her company, the long wait for the gondola to come up, and smoothing her hands over his chest and the warm skin bared by his half-buttoned shirt, “Would you like a drink?” she asked him. Another old ritual, but like all the white, it felt curiously important.

Shanks groaned. “Like you have no idea. We ran out two weeks ago, halfway through the Third Layer. I almost thought that was it for me.”

From anyone else, it might have sounded insensitive, but delvers had a darker sense of humour than most, a byproduct of their chosen profession and the unfathomable depths that inspired a uniquely black wit, but then that wasn’t so strange, when every descent was carried out like a gallows’ walk. And she welcomed the jokes; his infectious optimism and unshakeable good humour that made it so easy to forget she had any worries at all.

Pressing her hands to his chest, Makino lifted up on her toes to kiss him softly, and felt some of the tension where it let go of his shoulders as Shanks returned it, gentler, but with no less fervour than before.

“What can I get you, then?” she asked, the question meant to be teasing, even as she heard how her voice quavered. But the immense relief of being able to touch him again had left her a little shaken. The pregnancy hormones weren’t helping, either.

His eyes kindled with warmth, chasing some of the shadows from them, even as the deepest ones remained. But they didn’t touch his smile as he took her hand to kiss her knuckles, his beard grazing the sheer fabric of her sleeve, fastened around her middle finger. “I’d take one generous helping of my gorgeous, pregnant wife.”

She snorted, but all it did was make his grin brighten where he’d tucked it to her hand, tiny in his. His fingers were warm, thick and rough under hers. “I’ll have to check. I don’t know if I’ve got any of those in stock. It’s hard to tell what’s under all this tulle.”

Grinning, Shanks nipped at her fingers. “I’ll help you look.” He raised his brows. “My excavation skills are legendary. I’ll unveil whatever secrets you’re hiding under there.” Flicking his eyes to her hair, his grin brightened. “Ha. Unveil.”

Makino laughed, helpless. “Don’t I put up with enough delving related business being married to you?”

“Don’t force me to make a joke about diving into your cavern, wife, because I will.”

“You literally just did.”

“Did I?” He grinned. “My bad, but that’s what you get for marrying a delver. You know I can’t resist the temptation to explore dark, cavernous spaces.” The grin he shot her was the furthest from subtle Makino could imagine, as he quipped filthily, “Yours are just my personal favourite.”

Her startled laugh flung out of her, and the mortified blush probably looked even brighter than usual against all the white she was wearing. “Shanks!”

She made to pull her hand back, but he just tugged her closer, and she couldn’t help the ridiculous giggle when he dipped his head to kiss her neck.

“Don’t you have a report to make, _master_ delver?” she asked, only half teasing. She’d much rather have him to herself, and to make good on his promise, but she knew Guild business rarely waited for information from their White Whistles.

She felt the way his fingers tightened around hers, as though at the reminder, but, “Later,” Shanks rumbled under her ear, before drawing back to kiss her mouth softly, and despite the suggestive nature of their conversation, there was a muted longing in his voice when he told her, “Right now, I’d rather be with my wife who I haven't seen in five months.”

Touching her cheek, his grin looked somewhere between achingly wistful and mildly deprecating, as Shanks said, “It’s been way too long. I’m pretty sure I hallucinated about you on the way up.”

“He did,” Yasopp agreed dryly, and Makino lifted her eyes to take in the other members of Shanks’ team where they’d exited the gondola behind him. They’d been talking with the Guild officials, apparently the only ones with a mind to do their jobs. “I don’t even think you can blame it on the curse.”

She caught Ben’s long-suffering look of agreement, as he inclined his head to her in greeting. But he was smiling when he told her, predictably deadpan, “It’s a new kind of strain. Undocumented, but we all felt the effect.”

Shanks flipped them all off, grinning as laughter broke out across the group despite their weary expressions, and hearing it, Makino let herself feel her relief in earnest now, that they’d all come back to her.

Coming up beside her, “Shite, you’re stunning, Ma-chan,” Yasopp said, with a low whistle. “Motherhood suits you.”

Makino looked at Shanks. “See?” she teased, although her smile gave her away. “That’s how you say it.”

His grin was unapologetic, and carelessly adoring. “I stand by what I said,” he told her, his hand coming to wrap around the bump again. Beneath his palm, the baby kicked, and she watched as his grin widened at the contact.

“ _Dad_!”

The voice reached them from the crowd, and Yasopp laughed. “My boy! Wait, did you get _taller_?”

Turning, Makino found Usopp running up to where they were standing, and was inclined to agree, taking in the long, wiry limbs. Just the last year had seen him sprouting up almost to his father’s height. He’d pulled his mass of black, springing curls back with a cord, although some stubborn tendrils had escaped, bouncing around his temples. His complexion was a little lighter than his father's dark colouring; a creamy brown that shone in the sun.

The blue whistle around his neck gleamed, and she saw Yasopp reach out to flick it, before gripping his shoulder and declaring proudly that it wouldn’t be long now until he’d be joining them on their expeditions, which earned him a flustered splutter, although it didn't succeed in tempering Usopp's preening grin.

Observing the two of them, the heaviness of her belly felt suddenly significant, and the restless movements of their unborn child within. Makino didn’t think she was imagining that they seemed more eager than usual.

She wondered sometimes if there was something to those movements—her restless baby, who always seemed to be moving more the closer Makino stood to the Abyss; as though even in the womb, it gravitated towards the centre. Standing on the gondola port now, the furthest out you could be without physically being in the Abyss, the little shape within her wouldn’t stop moving.

Shanks laughed as he shifted his hand across her stomach, chasing those little movements. “Someone’s eager!” He met her eyes, grinning. “Is she always like this?”

Her heart skipped at the question, but then he’d thought it would be a girl since the day they found out. And her answering look held wry agreement, even as she didn’t know whether to feel affection or sadness, thinking of the future, and wondering how many more expeditions awaited her, and how many more times she would stand here, waiting for the gondola to rise and fearing the news it might bring. If the Abyss would one day take their child, too, however willingly.

She blinked the thoughts away, even as she felt the effort it took, with the constant movements under her hand. She very pointedly didn’t glance at the yawning chasm below.

The others had set off down the port to where Dadan stood with the awaiting crowd. Makino saw Sabo there with Koala, although the sweep of her eyes didn’t locate the figure she was looking for, and the red and gold of a familiar hat.

A gentle frown dipped between her brows as she searched the people gathered, but couldn’t find him anywhere. Strange.

“Everything okay?” Shanks asked, drawing her attention back, and Makino looked up to find him watching her. The setting sun lit his red hair, and threw kinder shadows over his face, the sight leaving her a little short of breath.

It really had been too long, and she felt it in her fingers now, longing to touch him, and to be away from the greedy eyes of the crowd and the sun.

The shade of his broad, towering frame shielding her from the heat, and she retreated into it, curling her fingers around the whistle hanging from his neck as she tugged him down for a soft kiss. She felt his fingers where they curled around the back of her neck, slipping under the heavy weight of her braid at her nape. There was no responding whistle there—she wasn't even a novice Bell, but she'd never desired either, or longed for anything but to have him home safe, and for their child to be healthy.

And smiling without effort for what felt like the first time in weeks, she repeated his earlier assurance quietly, feeling the truth where it had taken root in her chest, “It is now.”

Then, “Come on,” she said, reaching for his fingers to pull him with her, and felt his thumb where it brushed her pulse tenderly. “There’s a party waiting for you.” She paused, and then added demurely, “And we’ll see about finding you that wife you requested.” Her eyes twinkled. "You can add some new nude studies to your sketchbook. I've changed a bit since you were home last." For emphasis, she smoothed her hand over the pronounced curve of her belly.

His grin split his face, the sight achingly lovely, and his laughter this time was that loud, uncaring sound she loved as Shanks reached around her, bending down to plant a kiss to the top of her head, before his breath expelled with a rough, affected chuckle, “God, I’ve missed you.”

Tucking her head to his shoulder, she felt his arm where it came to wrap around her tightly, his knuckles brushing the swell of her stomach as they set off towards the city and her bar, a relief in having him home, in the sound of his voice and his inappropriate humour, although no sensation was stronger than the fierce joy that shaped her smile when he didn’t once look back.

 

—

 

From under the brim of his straw hat, Luffy observed Shanks’ welcoming ceremony, having snagged a decent viewing spot, seated on the stone rampart circling Orth’s limits; the outermost barrier between the city and the Abyss.

The complicated filigree of snug, winding streets that made up the upper levels teemed with movement, the boulevards and walkways strewn with white flowers and people, and the warm breeze carried the smells of the vendors taking advantage, spiced meats and hot cider and bread pulled straight from charred stove-tops served to the passersby who’d come out, some to witness the ascension, and others just to partake in the festivities. A White Whistle returning home was always cause for celebration, Shanks more than any other, and Orth’s pride in their most legendary delvers was as infamous as their eagerness to demonstrate it—usually with a party. And a _lot_ of food.

Catching a whiff of honey-glazed meat—and he could pinpoint the exact location of the vendor it came from based on nothing else—his stomach responded loudly, followed by his mouth watering, as he briefly considered abandoning his perch to make a necessary detour.

But there’d be food at Party’s, he knew, and nodded resolutely to himself. They’d move the celebration there later, and he’d get to ask Shanks about everything he’d seen, the five months he’d been down below. A few years ago, Luffy would have been one of the first to greet him, but things were different now. He wasn’t a kid anymore, for one.

And anyway, the baby should get to greet him first.

Touching the straw hat, his grin brightened when it caused the white petals that had gathered on the brim to rain down, only to catch on the warm breeze where it rose up from below, carrying the less appetising smells from the Wharf.

Peering down, he could see the ramshackle huts of the shanty town built along the city’s bottom level; the ones that were so far down they were within the Abyss itself, and half of which looked like they were a single nudge away from toppling into the chasm. He tried to see further down, leaning over the edge now, but it went too far. From Orth, you couldn’t even see far into the First Layer.

His stomach rumbled again, and he grimaced, the pang of hunger so intense he couldn’t help the groan that left him.

At the gondola port, Shanks was laughing, the sound easily distinguishable where it soared above the crowd. His team had returned with him; Luffy could see Ben and Yasopp, and Lucky Roo, although he was too far away to see if they’d brought anything up with them. White Whistles were sent to retrieve the most important artifacts, and often kept what they found for themselves. Shanks had Gryphon, an ancient sword he’d discovered before Luffy had even been born. It was a first-grade relic, like the gunblade strapped to Yasopp’s back.

He felt the familiar urge that he’d never outgrown, wanting to hear about the wonders of the great pit, and the dangers. He wondered what they’d found this time, and if there were any Greater Relics among them.

But looking towards the port found Makino smiling again, and suddenly the artifacts didn’t seem all that important.

Luffy watched her now—and Shanks, making a public embarrassment of himself over the sight of her stomach, which might have contradicted his reputation as a living legend, except everyone in Orth knew him, and better than to dismiss either aspect of his personality. A household favourite, everyone loved him, and the odd quirks were as easily accepted as the myth.

He was also the only White Whistle who returned to the surface on a regular basis; the others rarely left the Abyss. But Shanks had Makino and the baby, and so that wasn’t so strange.

Fiddling with the straw hat, Luffy thought of the other White Whistles, and the stories he’d grown up hearing of the Conquerors of the Abyss. Dark King Rayleigh, who guarded the Seeker Camp on the Second Layer, and Whitebeard and Big Mom, who’d conquered the Sea of Corpses. And Kaidou, the one they called the Lord of Beasts; the only living being said to have ascended from the Sixth Layer without losing his humanity in the process, although how much of it was left was up for debate.

He turned his gaze to the Abyss, yawning below. If he squinted, he could see the very top of the shallows—the grassy bluffs circling down into the First Layer, and the crowns of the petrified trees dotting the sharply sloping landscape. Looking at it, he felt the familiar stirring within him; the thing that wasn’t hunger for food, but something else, although sometimes it was difficult to tell them apart.

“Oi, Luffy!”

There was movement behind him, before a shape lifted itself onto the rampart where he was sitting, and he inclined his head to watch his brother take a seat. “This is where you were,” Ace said, as he swung his legs over the side, the careless grace of someone who wasn’t afraid of the bottomless pit below, but then no one in Orth grew up with a fear of heights. “Thought you’d be at the front of the crowd when Red-Hair got back.”

Smiling, Luffy shrugged. “Ma-chan is really big now,” he said, quietly. “She wasn’t when he left.”

Ace’s expression eased into understanding, softening his grin. Then with a searching look, he mused, “You know, you’re more perceptive than people give you credit.”

“Ah?”

Ace just shook his head, before he reached out to yank the brim of the straw hat down into his eyes, and laughed when Luffy retaliated with a shove, although he didn’t budge from his seat, just leaned back on his arms as he tipped his face to the setting sun.

Pushing his hat back up and out of his eyes, Luffy observed his brother where he sat, taking in his excavation gear—the coil of rope looped around his belt, and his knife. He was rarely without either, but then even on the surface, delvers were never fully out of the Abyss. The sun had left his skin brown with freckles; the most telling evidence that he’d been topside for a while.

“I came to tell you,” Ace said then, and Luffy saw that a new smile had taken over his face, as Ace cocked his head to look at him. “I’m off on an expedition tomorrow.”

Luffy perked up. “Really?”

Ace nodded. He was looking at the Abyss now. “Fourth Layer. There’s a rumour about a Greater Relic.” He lowered his voice, before he continued, “It’s supposed to be the embodiment of darkness. Headquarters wants to find it before word gets out, and we’ll have competition. Whitebeard is leading the expedition.”

Luffy’s eyes rounded, before they flicked to the obsidian whistle nestled in the dip of his brother’s freckled collar. They’d been raised in the same Guild orphanage, but Ace was three years older, and already a Black Whistle, although people were saying it wouldn’t be long until he was recognised as a White. He was even apprenticed to one of the most famous.

Reaching out, Ace flicked the whistle around Luffy’s neck, sending it swinging. “If you put in a little more effort, you could join my team. We could go on expeditions together.”

Luffy glanced down at his own whistle, the colour the same as his shirt. Just a step up from the novice Bells, Red Whistles weren’t allowed further down than the First Layer, unlike Ace, who could go all the way down to the Fifth. Luffy had never been further down than six-hundred feet, and that was only because he’d gotten caught before he could go any further.

He’d been seven, just a Bell, and not even allowed in the shallows. And he hadn’t been thinking about the consequences of his actions, only that he’d wanted to show them that he wasn’t just a little kid, but that he could be brave, too, like Gold Roger, and Shanks.

He’d made it down six-hundred feet on his own when he’d stumbled upon a splitjaw. If Shanks hadn’t reached him in time, Luffy knew he would have died.

Shanks had lost his arm that day.

And it had been ten years, but the guilt was still there when he looked for it, gnawing on his insides, worse than either of his hungers. Even back then, Shanks was hailed as the strongest of the White Whistles, but Luffy hadn't understood why, until that day. Even bleeding from his amputation, he'd carried him all the way back to the surface; Luffy had been so sick from the ascent, he hadn’t been able to walk.

He hadn’t been further down than the shallows since then. The last time he'd broken the rules, Shanks had gone after him, but he wouldn’t be a burden like that again. When he went back down, it would be through his own strength. He wouldn’t need anyone to rescue him.

“Nah,” Luffy said, grinning. “I’m fine like this.”

Smiling, Ace just shook his head, although he didn’t argue. But then their ambitions had always been different. Ace had something to prove in surpassing his father; Luffy didn’t. And anyway, he’d never had the patience for the time it took to climb the ranks the ordinary way.

There was also the fact that he was too easily distracted to pay attention to actually excavating anything, or to bother with what grade of artifacts fetched what kind of price on the surface. Ace was good at that. Sabo, too, but somehow Luffy couldn’t be bothered.

But then, he didn’t just want to dig up artifacts.

“Well, I’m off to Party’s,” Ace announced, swinging his legs back over the side as he pushed off the rampart. “There’s a big welcome party for Red-Hair. Sabo should already be there. And I heard Koala just made Moon Whistle, so there’s a lot to celebrate.”

Luffy nodded. “I’m just gonna sit here a bit.”

Ace smiled, but as he turned to walk back into the city, “Hey, don’t stare at it too long,” he threw over his shoulder, grinning now. “Or before you know it, it'll start staring back.”

Luffy just smiled, gaze on the chasm, which always seemed to be drawing his focus. And there was no place in Orth where you couldn’t see it, unless you had your back turned to it, but even then it was still weirdly present, as though it was always at the corner of your eye, waiting.

He wanted to find it—the secret of the Abyss, at the very bottom of the netherworld. The place no one ever returned from, and that only the King of the Abyss had been said to have seen; the only delver to have explored all the known layers, and even the unknown ones. Gold Roger, the most famous White Whistle in Orth’s history.

No one knew what lay beyond the Sixth Layer. Even Black Whistles like Ace weren’t allowed below the Fifth. Only White Whistles could go that far, the only delvers without a depth limit, who had the freedom to explore the Abyss as they wanted. With his current rank, it would take him years to get that kind of allowance.

But he didn’t need a rank for what he wanted to do, or permission from the Delver’s Guild. He wasn’t looking for artifacts, or even fame.

Grinning, he touched his hat, a tingle in his fingertips where they brushed the wide brim. He felt it in his gut—that there was something waiting down there, where Gold Roger had gone on his Last Dive. He wanted to know what it was, wanted to find out, which meant he had to go all the way down to the very bottom of the Abyss.

But first, he needed a cave raiding team.

 


End file.
